


The Hunter from the Hill

by valkyriered



Series: Post-Series [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 08:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyriered/pseuds/valkyriered
Summary: Post-series, the Holts welcome Shiro into their home. A series of ficlets crossposted from tumblr. Not necessarily in chronological order-- posted in the order they were written.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I really, really dig this AU, and hopefully in the future I'll write more, but it's a difficult series to write. Shiro is incredibly depressed, which makes it an intense experience writing-wise. There's no good way to resolve what I've written. There won't be an end or any real closure. I can't imagine the recovery process is going to be linear or easy, and so I've essentially plucked out some parts that exemplify how difficult it is for him to return to a 'normal life.' I'm leaving the chapter count open-ended because it's possible I will return to it in the future, but for now I'm putting it aside.

“Takashi?” Colleen knocks gently on Matt’s door. There’s no response, but she wasn’t expecting one. At this point, it’s more of a formality than anything.

She carefully nudges the door open with her hip. The room is dark, the lights off, the blinds closed. The blankets are wrapped around a figure in the bed, a tuft of white hair peeking out. Colleen sighs, then carefully places the tray on the bedside table. She kneels down beside the bed.

“Do you want to go outside? It’s beautiful out today.”

She watches the white mess of hair slowly shake back and forth. No, he does not want to go outside.

“I brought some food.”

Another shake of the head. He didn’t have breakfast this morning, either. He slept on the couch last night, and once Sam took Matt to physical therapy, Shiro crept upstairs and got under the covers.

“At least drink some water.” Colleen pleads softly. “Come on, sit up.”

Shiro shudders, but when she starts pulling back the blankets, he relents. It takes the two of them to get him upright and leaning against the headboard, and even once he’s up he lists to the side slightly. Tears silently drip down his face.

A very bad day, then. “Oh, Takashi.” Colleen laments softly, and the tears come faster.

“Sorry.” He whispers. His voice is broken and cracked.

“Don’t apologize.” She reaches for the glass of water and hands it to him. He’s trembling, badly, but he manages to lift it to his lips and take a couple small sips. For a brief moment, it looks like he’s going to vomit, but then he visibly swallows and hands the glass back to her. She puts it aside.

“Can I open the windows?” She asks. “I don’t think it’s doing you any good, sitting here in the dark.”

He shakes his head.

“Maybe you could lie down in my room for a bit. It’s a bit cleaner, and I can put something on for you to watch.”

His face crumples. “You don’t—“ He gasps. “I’m sorry. I don’t— you shouldn’t need to take care of me.”

“I want to take care of you.” She reaches out, very slowly so he can see, and smooths back his bangs. He still flinches. “You’re a part of this family, Takashi. We take care of each other.”

“I’m sorry.” He says again, pressing the heel of his palm against his eyes. He hiccups and grits his teeth and a few more tears chase down his cheek. “I k-keep— seeing—“ He chokes and doesn’t finish his sentence.

Colleen nods in understanding. Flashbacks aren’t rare in the Holt household. She’d reached out to a therapist to better understand them, searched the internet for how to best handle her family’s various iterations of PTSD. It’s a complicated process, but she’s learning, along with the rest of them, what works and what doesn’t.

“Let’s go down the hall, okay?”

They work together to get the blankets off of Shiro, and then he swings his legs over to the side of the bed, and she can see how hard he’s trying, how little energy he has that even that’s a struggle. She debates asking him if he needs a break, but eventually concludes that if he runs out of momentum, he’ll probably never get up.

She helps him up, and he wipes at the mess on his face before letting her help him to the door. The hallway is bright with afternoon sunlight, and he squints and flinches and shies away from it, and for a moment she’s afraid he’ll turn around at get back into bed.

But he steels himself. He squares his shoulders and swallows and they work their way down the hallway together, one foot in front of the other. It’s slow going, but they eventually make it to her room, and she carefully deposits him on the bed. The room she shares with Sam is bright and airy, with white walls and gauzy white curtains and large windows to let the light in. The windows are pushed open to hear the birds outside, and an afternoon breeze floats in, playing with the curtains.

Colleen busies herself with turning on the television and turning the audio low while Shiro makes himself comfortable. When she turns back around, he’s under the covers with his back to the windows, curled up as small as he can make himself. Still, at least she got some water in him and got him to move. That’s a small victory.

She crosses to the side of the bed he’s curled on, and kneels down. “Do you want me to stay?” She murmurs. He has the blankets pulled up over his head. For a moment she thinks that he’s fallen back asleep, but then the outline of his head makes a small, hesitant nod. “Okay, sweetheart.” She murmurs. “I’ll be right back.” From under the covers she hears a damp inhale, but he’s quiet after that. She goes back to Matt’s room and retrieves the tray of food, takes it downstairs to put it in the refrigerator. If he wants any later, she can always go get it. With that, she goes back upstairs to her room. Shiro’s still curled up.

Colleen goes over to the other side of the bed and sits down on top of the covers, leaving about a foot between her and Shiro. If he wants to be touched, he’ll move. For now, it’s better to give him space. She idly flips through the channels, quickly skipping away from one that has Shiro’s image front and center, with the scrolling text at the bottom asking where he’s disappeared to. His few press conferences once he’d landed had been impressive, and the media was incredibly curious about him.

He’d been functional when he’d first gotten back. He’d even managed to live in his own apartment for a few weeks, but then he slipped into a dark, intense depression. It happened alarmingly quickly. One minute he was buying groceries and laughing with Matt, and the next he was dull-eyed and laying on their couch with his face buried in Gunther’s fur.

Down the hall, she hears a quiet thump from Katie’s room, and then the hiss of a soldering iron. Projects, then. She keeps waiting for Katie to get sick like Shiro or Matt, but her anxiety comes in quick flashes, gone almost minutes after it manifests. Her panic attacks are fast and intense and she’s always tired afterwards. She’s taken to soldering when she’s feeling edgy, and last time Colleen looked in she discovered that Katie’s not actually building anything— instead, she’s using the hot metal to make little designs in her shelves, swirls and shapes that look almost like a language.

Matt is more consistent. When his depression flares, he’ll get angry and mean, and tease Katie or goad Shiro into an argument. After the rage has passed, he’ll run out of energy. He’ll go up to his room and lay down for hours, sometimes days. He refuses to speak to Colleen or Sam and leave only to use the restroom. It’s worse than the rages, because she feels incredibly helpless. There’s nothing she can do to make him feel better. Sometimes she hears him weeping through the door, but when she goes in to talk to him, he shouts at her to go away. There’s nothing she can do about it, other than leave food outside his door and wait for him to claw his way out of it. Matt goes to therapy twice a week, and physical therapy once a week. There’s talk of him getting surgery to fix his broken leg that never healed quite right.

Colleen is pulled out of her thoughts by a warm weight pressed against her side. She looks down. Shiro’s still buried under the covers, but he’s rolled over to rest his head against her thigh.  A small, soft-looking tuft of white hair is sticking out. Colleen considers for a moment, and then slowly, carefully, reaches down to run her hand through the hair.

He flinches at first. He always does, when anyone touches him. He relaxes into it after a moment, though, and Colleen continues carefully brushing through his hair.

“I’m sorry.” He says suddenly, his voice muffled by the blankets. “I want— to be better. But sometimes I can’t— I feel like every time I have it figured out, something gets changed. The ground gets pulled out from under me again.” His voice still sounds wet, but he’s speaking and communicating, which is something.

“Nothing’s going to change.”

“Everything’s going to change.” He shifts closer to her. “I can’t— I don’t think I can do it again.”

“Takashi?”

“I feel like I’ve lived a million years.” He shudders. “I’m ready to be done.”

Colleen’s stomach drops. Her hand in his hair stills. Her and Sam do the best with their children (and Shiro is forever included in that category) but there are things that are out of their depth. There’s stuff that she doesn’t quite know how to handle. She remembers carefully hiding the knives after Matt’s therapist warned them both about suicidal tendencies, placing them in a cardboard box while Sam watched sadly. Sam had cleared the bathroom of razors. They’d figured out a system for how Matt could ask them when he needed to shave, but it wasn’t necessary. Both Matt and Shiro rarely have the energy or drive to shave. They’d collected the various pill bottles around the house and hidden those as well, and the various medications all the kids (and Sam) are required to take are dispensed at breakfast before being put away for the rest of the day.

They have a system. But it’s only preventative. They both know that if any of the kids are really determined, they’ll figure something out.

Colleen swallows and closes her eyes. She resumes stroking his hair. Shiro melts against her.

“How bad is it right now?”

“Bad.”

“Should we go to the hospital?”

“M’ not gonna do anything.”

“You’ll let me know if you think you will?”

Shiro shudders. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” Colleen nods. That’s enough. They can work with that. She waits, but Shiro doesn’t say anything else. It probably look a lot out of him to even admit that. She chews her lip. He has therapy tomorrow. She’ll keep a close eye on him tonight. The study that he sometimes sleeps in is only one door down, so she and Sam will be close if they need to be. Then again, he usually sleeps on the couch downstairs so he can cuddle with Gunther.

His hair is getting a bit greasy. He could probably stand to have a bath. Maybe she’ll draw one for him later, if he feels up to it.

Her eyes slide back to the television, which is advertising some show that’s coming on next week. The volume is low, and she’s content to just watch the actors silently mime out the scene. Downstairs, she hears the door unlock and open, the tell-tale step-drag of Matt, the soft footsteps of her husband. Matt is upset about something. He’s probably in pain. For all that physical therapy does for him, he often comes home sore and achy.

Shiro doesn’t react, and when she listens she can hear him softly snoring.

She listens to the movement of the house around her, hears Matt go into his room and boot up his computer. Sam comes upstairs afterwards, and she hears him work his way down the hall, and then pause in their doorway.

His voice is quiet when he comes in, but there’s a smile in it. “You know, most husbands would be upset to find their wife in bed with a younger man.”

Colleen looks up and smiles back. “It’s been a rough day. How’s Matt?”

Sam frowns. “It’s been a rough day.” He echoes. “They’re really pushing for surgery.”

“He still doesn’t want it?”

“It’s a long recovery period. I don’t think he likes the idea of not being able to walk for a few months. And they’ll have to break it and re-set it, which… well. I don’t blame him.”

Colleen nods. Sam looks at her for a moment, and then crosses to her side of the bed to stoop down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Do you want anything? Coffee?”

Colleen shakes her head, then considers for a moment. “Can you check in on Katie? I haven’t heard from her since breakfast.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He straightens, and his eyes drift over to Shiro. “How is he?”

Her eyes drift over to him. “He’s worrying me. He said no to the hospital, but…”

“We’ll keep an eye on him.” Sam finishes.

“How are you doing?”

Sam pauses. “I’m doing alright. Taking care of the kids is helping.” He ruffles Colleen’s hair. “And you?”

Colleen smiles weakly. “Worrying is a full-time job.”

“You’re doing great at it. Up for a promotion any day now. I’ll check in on Katie and report back.”

“Thank you.”

“You sure you don’t want anything? Your laptop? A sandwich?”

Colleen considers for a moment, suddenly aware of the ache in her stomach. “A sandwich would be great, actually.”

“Coming right up.” Sam goes to leave, but pauses in the doorway to look her up and down, as though memorizing her face. He does that often now, reveling in being near his wife again. Colleen feels the same way, and it sometimes takes all her self-control to even let him out of her sight. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Colleen echoes back. He turns to leave. Even now, just hearing him move around the house is unbearably sweet.

Shiro’s still sleeping, under the blankets and tucked against her. She slowly runs her thumb across his forehead. It’s been a difficult day, but there are good days, too. Some days Matt and Shiro and Katie will all, miraculously, feel okay at the same time. They’ll talk and laugh and it’ll almost feel normal. They’ll throw balls for Gunther, who’s old and arthritic, but will still lope across the yard after them like he’s a puppy again. They’ll sit down at the table and eat together.

Today has been a tough day. But maybe tomorrow will be better.


	2. Chapter 2

Anonymous Asked: "Matt is more consistent. When his depression flares, he’ll get angry and mean, and tease Katie or goad Shiro into an argument." can you go into more detail about Matt and Shiro fighting? Maybe a ficlet?

 

* * *

Colleen starts at the sound of a door slamming from upstairs. Shiro and Matt had been at each other all day. Matt’s in a mood again– it’s been getting more humid lately, and the weather makes his leg stiff and painful. He also had therapy that morning, which makes him even more vulnerable than usual. Colleen tried to talk to him in the car, but he just blinked back tears and wrapped the compression bandage around his leg a little tighter. When they got home she gave him some tylenol (they’re trying to avoid using narcotic painkillers to manage his pain) and then he went to lay in bed.

She was hoping resting would make him feel a little better. But since he laid down it started raining, which has his knee more swollen than ever, and Shiro dropped something earlier which woke him up, and, well–

It’s unfair to say Shiro isn’t responsible for the arguing as well. Matt’s depression manifests more as aggression, but Shiro is fully capable of biting back, and he has a tendency to get frightened and escalate. They both do. It’s hard not to see the massive different in size when they’re fighting, and Shiro’s looming over Matt. Even knowing that he would never hit hard enough to do damage, it still makes Colleen nervous to see the two of them going at it.

From the upstairs hall she hears Matt say something, too low to hear, and then Shiro responding, his voice rising in volume and pitch. It’s upsettingly formulaic. They’ll shout back and forth for a couple minutes, hurling insults in english and languages that Colleen is almost positive aren’t from Earth. At some point they’ll both get too frustrated to argue, and then they’ll reduce to shoving each other around for a bit. Finally, someone will run out of energy and step back, and then they’ll back off and separate for a bit, circling each other like two injured dogs. 

She hates it. She spoke to Matt’s therapist about it, and he told her, quite frankly, that there’s not a lot to do in that situation. If they’re not hurting each other, breaking up their fights isn’t necessary. Taking out some of that aggression, although perhaps misplaced, really isn’t the end of the world.

It still feels like it.

Upstairs, Matt calls Shiro a ‘fucker’, and then Shiro slurs back in a different language.  It sounds thick and sharp, and Shiro’s getting louder, and then he suddenly— stops.

“Matt?” She hears him say softly. “Matt?”

A dull thud. Colleen freezes.

And then Shiro’s voice, shaky and frightened, calling down the stairs. “Colleen?”

“I’m coming.” She calls back, pushing her work away from her and all-but-running to the stairs. Up on the landing, the two boys are on the floor. Shiro’s sitting with his back pressed against the wall, eyes shadowed and shoulders tight with anxiety as he watches Matt.

Matt, who’s on his knees, curled in on himself with his arms up over his head.

“I’m sorry.” Shiro’s on the edge of panic, but he seems to be keeping it curbed purely for Matt’s sake. “I scared him, he doesn’t—“ He swallows. “I don’t think I’m the right person. Right now.”

Colleen doesn’t like that it takes self-control to not shout at Shiro. She doesn’t like that that’s her first instinct. Instead, she goes to kneel down in front of Matt. “Shiro, go downstairs and get some water.”

“Okay.” Shiro climbs to his feet and lumbers past her, and she waits for him to go down the stairs before addressing Matt.

“Matt? Sweetheart?”

He’s shaking and whispering to himself, and doesn’t respond. Colleen resists the urge to reach out and touch him. Sometimes touch isn’t always the right thing. She sits down in front of him, getting comfortable, and then tries a new tactic.

“Matt, we’re on Earth. You’re on Earth, and you’re safe. We’re at home right now, in the upstairs hallway. Gunther is sleeping in the backyard. Your sister is in her room. Shiro is downstairs. Your father is getting groceries.” She’s rambling, but sometimes that’s the best way to bring him back. “I think he might get pizza on the way home. We can give him a call and ask him to pick something up. I have no idea what toppings we’d get. It’s a problem, deciding on toppings with this many people in the house.” She sighs. “Everyone is safe, sweetheart. Everyone’s okay. You’re home.”

Matt’s shoulders relax as she speaks. He’s still shaking, but he edges his way over to her until he’s leaning against her.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Colleen very carefully reaches up to stroke through his hair. It’s gotten so long, but he hasn’t said anything about wanting it trimmed.

“Hi, mom.” His voice is watery and quiet but he’s there, and speaking. She hears Shiro begin making his way up the stairs, slowly and carefully to make up for not having his hand on the banister. Matt tenses back up when Shiro makes it onto the landing.

He’s hunched over slightly, and Colleen realizes, belatedly, that he’s trying to look smaller. For all that Shiro’s size makes him look like an aggressive person, it’s the last thing he wants. Shiro squats down and passes the water to Matt.

“I’m sorry.” He says, like it’s spilling out of him. “I should have known that it would scare you, we shouldn’t be using those words, they’re—“

“Shiro.” Matt says, and he fixes him with a shaky, lopsided smile. “It’s fine. It happens.”

Shiro swallows. “Yeah, but— I don’t want to be something that causes that. I—” Shiro’s eyes flick from Matt to Colleen, and he stops himself.

Well, that’s her cue. “I’ll leave you boys to it.” She says. Matt shifts off of her, but he’s still looking at Shiro intently as she makes her way past the two of them to head back downstairs and back to her previously-discarded work.

Upstairs, she hears Matt’s door clicking shut, and the two boys’ muffled voices talking quietly. She worries, briefly, that they’ll start up again, and then reminds herself— if they fight again, it’s fine. It’s misplaced aggression. It’s not the end of the world.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Pidge carefully traces another line into her shelving unit. The metal hisses under the heat of her soldering gun, and she lays out another letter. The Altean alphabet is soothing in away that the english one is not, and she breathes out before moving onto the next. Maybe because she can detach herself more. Every time she feels the creeping anxiety crawling up her chest, she soothes herself with the familiar weight of her soldering gun and the smell of heated copper. It blocks out the noise of the house around her— Matt’s heavy limping, her father’s careful footsteps, the sound of her mother trying to quietly talk to them both.

The squeaking of the couch cushions downstairs. 

Not that she’s unhappy to be home. She’s glad, that her family is safe, that she’s safe. It’s familiar.

But it’s still different. Her mother looks older. The earth smells different, her room feels smaller than it used to be. Against the terrestrial backdrop of Earth, her gratefulness to finally have Matt and her father back is no longer blinding. She sees the damage that was done to them now, the way they’re both fraying at the edges.

Shiro’s still around. He initially did a few rounds with the press, fielding question after question, barely even flinching when they began touching on topics that she knows still frighten him. He bought an apartment and took all of his old stuff out of storage. He’s talking to the Garrison about another position, perhaps teaching or something similar.

He had his arm removed.

She’d known for a long time that he’d felt that way about the arm. But nobody had expected how adamant he’d be about having it removed. It came down to the decision that the Alteans would do it, with their advanced medical technology and better understanding of the way the arm works. However, in spite of (or maybe because of) it, he seemed to be doing well. The last time she saw him, he had color in his cheeks and was chatting animatedly with Matt. Still, her mom called him constantly to make sure that he’s doing okay, and when Pidge asked why, Colleen just pursed her lips and shook her head.

“I worry.” She’d said, and that had been it.

And then Shiro hadn’t returned her mom’s calls for three days.

Downstairs, Pidge hears a thump.

She goes back to writing on her metal shelving. Shiro has been fine. Shiro has been absolutely fine, and there’s plenty of reasons why he hasn’t been answering the phone. There’s plenty of reasons why it’s definitely not him downstairs. The muffled crying can’t be him.

She hears her mom say something, and then the sound of the tea kettle being put on the stove. Everything is thankfully muffled. She lets out a slow, deep breath. She keeps writing out her strange decorations. Some of it’s nonsense, just words that she’s remembered. Phrases and numbers and the names of creatures that they’ve encountered.

She loses herself in the familiar movements. It’s easier this way, to stay in her room, to keep to herself and deal with herself. She can ignore her father’s upsets, and Matt’s poisonous moods, and the way her mother’s hair has started turning silver. Her thoughts drift to Voltron, to Lance and Hunk who are both at their respective homes and too far away to touch. She closes her eyes against the sudden, aching pain of missing them both.

Downstairs, she hears her mother’s keys. Her mom is talking quietly to someone. At least the crying has stopped. She closes her eyes. Her hands are shaking, so she puts down the soldering gun. She can still see the light from her lamp through her eyelids, so she curls in on herself, presses her forehead to the cool wooden floor. Her heart is pounding. She takes some deep breaths. It’s _just an anxiety attack. It will pass._ She repeats it to herself over, and over, and over again.

Downstairs, she hears the heavy creak of her front door closing. The crying starts again, heavier and deeper this time. Her hands creep up to cover her ears. _I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry—_

_Breathe._

She digs her nails into her scalp, grounds herself through the tiny pinpricks of pain. The guilt curls up deep inside her belly, poking and prodding at her. _You’re ignoring him. He’s in pain, and you’re ignoring him._

_I’m in pain too._

_You owe him._

She does owe him. He saved her brother’s life, he saved her own. He carried her and their team for years. Wouldn’t it be unfair to leave him when he needed someone?

_Why does it have to be me?_

Her mother and father are better at this. Between the two of them they manage Matt’s moods and her anxiety. When she feels like she’s spinning out of control, they’re both there, twin pillars of strength. (Even though she can tell her father is struggling, and she can hear him pacing the house at night.)

There’s a quiet moan of pain from downstairs. 

_You owe him._

_Do something._

She grits her teeth. She has to make the right decision. Former Paladin on Voltron, ex-Defender of the Universe– it’s her job to be brave. Pidge inhales, and exhales, and stands up. She brushes her hair out of her face and stores the soldering gun safely, the way Matt taught her so it doesn’t start a fire. She cleans up the tarp that she put down under her workspace. She folds it up and tucks it into her shelves, and inspects everything to make sure that there’s no stray metal droplets.

And then she goes out to the landing, and climbs down the stairs. The instant she opens her door, the crying stops, or muffles, she can’t tell which. But it’s quieter now, as she makes her way downstairs. From the stairs she can see Shiro’s socked feet peeking around the back of their old couch.

“Shiro?” Pidge asks softly.

It’s silent for a moment, and then— “Yeah?” His voice is quiet and ragged and Pidge hesitates for longer than she’d like to admit. He’s supposed to be the strong one, and every instinct is screaming at her to leave, that she’s about to ruin something that she depends on.

She rounds the edge of the couch. He looks worse than she imagined. His face is splotchy, his eyes red and swollen. He’s paler than usual, too. He’s lost some of the weight and tan that he’d gained after they came back to Earth. He looks exhausted. He’s wearing a ratty, stained t-shirt. He’s wrapped in a well-worn blanket that they keep on the couch for movie nights or when it’s cold. Her mother must have put it around him— even after all this time, she doesn’t think that Shiro would feel comfortable taking it for himself.

She doesn’t know what to say. Asking if he’s okay would be the obvious question, but it’s clear that he’s not, and it would be a disservice to their relationship to say something so superficial. She chews her lip. He stares at her for a moment. Her discomfort is obvious, and he averts his eyes in something akin to shame.

“Sorry.” He says quietly. “I’m kinda lost in the woods right now.”

“What?”

“The woods.” He gestures vaguely before letting his arm fall back onto the couch cushions. A tear streaks down his cheek. “I don’t really know.”

“Oh.” She swallows.

“You sound like your mom.” He takes in a shaky breath. “Will you sit with me? I can’t— _god_ , Pidge—“ His hands open and close uselessly, clenching against the blanket. He grits his teeth and turns to press his face into the arm of the couch.

“I’ll sit with you.” Pidge says quickly, and swallows past the lump in her throat before climbing onto the couch with him. She’s not really sure how they’ll fit, but then Shiro tugs at her with his remaining arm— his _human_ arm— and she ends up curled on her side, her back pressed to his chest, her head laying on his shoulder. He feels sweaty, and he smells a bit, like he hasn’t showered in a while.

They’ve laid like this before. When she had nightmares aboard the Castleship, sometimes she’d climb into Shiro’s bed and let him hold her until she felt safe again. She knows for a fact that the other Paladins did it too. Near the end of their journey, it wasn’t uncommon for them to sleep two or three to a bed, as enemies and nightmares became worse.

This time the comfort isn’t for her, and for the first time she wonders if Shiro holding her made him feel better as well. Maybe in some way it felt good to know that she was safe. Pidge feels a hot tear drip onto the back of her neck, and she moves her arm so she can link her fingers with Shiro’s. He holds on tightly.

She’s acutely aware of how Shiro is still shaking.

“What’s wrong?” She finally asks. Shiro’s silent for a moment, and then he curls more tightly around her.

“I thought I was okay.” His voice is shaky. Pidge feels him swallow. “But there’s nothing to focus on here. We’re not fighting anymore.” His voice cracks. Pidge presses back into him.

She knows how he feels. It was easier to forget the nightmares when she had to get up every day and work hard to just stay alive. There were always new projects, things to update on the Castleship, weapons and tools to upgrade. Strategies to plan out.

Now, there’s just her home that doesn’t feel like home anymore.

“Yeah.” Pidge agrees quietly, blinking against the sudden rush of tears. She rarely had anxiety attacks on the Castleship. It was always Hunk, or Lance, that panicked. But once they landed— everything was a source of panic. Small choices that she usually found easy, or projects that she could’ve done in her sleep. She once walked outside and found herself breathless at how bright it was, and the smell of the Earth. Her mother ended up carrying her back inside.

They all kept everything pressed inside. Shiro had to be the grown-up for so long, and now he’s finally able to— let go, maybe. She doesn’t think Shiro would have ever cried in front of her when they were aboard the Castleship.

What about Hunk, and Lance, and Keith? Didn’t they have things that they couldn’t deal with when they were Voltron? What if they’re also struggling right now, except they’re all alone and they have nobody that understands? Hunk is with his father, Lance is with his family as well. Poor Keith is all alone, and no matter how much he insists he wants solitude, it doesn’t feel _right_. Pidge tries to imagine being all alone right now, and the deep, aching loneliness of it is almost overwhelming. She wants them with her right now. She misses all of them so badly that it hurts, she misses Allura and Coran and the mice. She even misses Shiro, even though he’s pressed against her right now. She misses the way he used to be, even though it’s not fair.

Shiro’s arm shifts around her. “Pidge?” He murmurs. Of course he knows that something’s wrong. He’s always been annoyingly good at that.

She takes in a breath and finds that her lower lip is shaking, that she’s less steady than she was. “I miss everyone.” She says, but it dissolves into a sob as she turns to press her face into Shiro’s arm. She hates it, she feels selfish for doing this when it’s Shiro that needs comforting, but the tears don’t stop.

She feels Shiro nuzzle at the crown of her head before brushing a kiss into her scalp. “I know.” He murmurs. “I miss them too.” His voice sounds steadier. Closer to the Shiro that she knew when they were Voltron.

Pidge tucks herself closer to Shiro, and he unlocks his hand from hers to toss some of the blanket over her as well. She tucks it around herself.

“Your mom wants me to stay with you guys for a while.” Shiro says quietly.

“Are you going to?” She asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. There’s no way to recapture the mental connection they had as Voltron. It was agony to not have that anymore— her head felt massive and empty and achingly lonely. The others probably felt the same way. Maybe that’s why Shiro crashed and burned so quickly.

“Probably.” Shiro reaches down to recapture her hand in his. “I don’t think—“ He swallows. Stops himself.

“Shiro?”

“I couldn’t even answer the phone.” His voice cracks. “I couldn’t get out of bed.”

Pidge’s grip on Shiro’s hand tightens. He squeezes back.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She says.

Shiro doesn’t say anything to that. His breathing is still a little damp, but it slows and lapses and Pidge can feel him relax as he falls asleep. It makes sense. She always falls asleep quickly after crying. It’s exhausting.

Her mom comes home a little while later, with a full Garrison duffle bag that has Shiro’s name scrawled across it in faded sharpie. Pidge knows what’s probably in it— his clothes, his shoes, his laptop. Maybe some books. She feels her mom press a kiss to her head, and then another one to Shiro’s. She hears her go upstairs to put the bag in the guest room.

Behind her, Shiro lets out a slow, sleepy sigh, and pulls her a little closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Home is the sailor, home from sea:
> 
> Her far-borne canvas furled
> 
> The ship pours shining on the quay
> 
> The plunder of the world.
> 
>  
> 
> Home is the hunter from the hill:
> 
> Fast in the boundless snare
> 
> All flesh lies taken at his will
> 
> And every fowl of air.
> 
>  
> 
> 'Tis evening on the moorland free,
> 
> The starlit wave is still:
> 
> Home is the sailor from the sea,
> 
> The hunter from the hill.
> 
>  
> 
> A.E. Housman


End file.
